


Baby Just Say Yes

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is kind of a flop at being a vampire. Niall is his next victim. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Just Say Yes

**Author's Note:**

> title from taylor swift's 'love story'
> 
> i apologize for the liberal use of italics.

Niall is confused. There are two half empty glasses on the bar in front of him and that can’t… that can’t be right, can it? He was drinking one pint just a minute ago.

“C’mon, Nialler!” crows a voice to his left. “Thought you were gonna drink me under the table, mate. Weak Irish constitution can’t keep up with an Englishman? Tsk, tsk.”  
  
Niall turns towards the voice and sees two Louis’ and huh. He thinks there’s maybe a pattern here. Two glasses, two Louis, and Niall is too drunk. He starts laughing. That’s clever, that is.  
  
“Lou,” he says. Slurs, really. Can you slur a one syllable word? Whatever. “You cheated.”  
  
Louis gasps, apparently affronted by Niall’s accusation. “How very dare you. I would never.”  
  
“You would, too,” a new voice breaks in. Niall turns his head too quickly and it takes a moment for the world to catch up. It’s Zayn, leaning over the bar and wiping up something sticky near Niall’s elbow with a towel. Niall smiles brightly at him because probably it was Niall that spilled and also Zayn has cheekbones. Well, everyone has cheekbones. But Zayn, he’s got _cheekbones_.  
  
Niall reaches a finger out, pokes at Zayn’s face. “Cheekbones,” he sighs dreamily.  
  
Zayn bats Niall’s hand away and shoots an accusing look in Louis’ direction. “Fuck, mate, how much has he had to drink?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Louis lies, hunching his shoulders defensively. “Hannah Montana over there can’t be tamed. He’s out of control, Zayn! You should’ve cut him off. You’re an irresponsible bartender.”  
  
“Hey,” Niall protests. “’m just being Miley.”  
  
Zayn rolls his eyes, which Niall interprets as _how is this my life_. Zayn says a lot with his eye rolls, if you can learn to read them. Niall’s spent enough time sitting at this bar to be fluent in Zayn’s eye rolls. In all of Zayn’s facial expressions, really. It’s just that Zayn’s got this face. With the cheekbones. It’s such a shame he’s only interested in tits.  
  
Niall realizes he’s lost the thread of Zayn and Loius’ conversation and with not a little effort focuses on Zayn’s words. “…matching each other drink for drink, right? Even though we know Niall can out drink you any day. Yet you’re sitting here nearly sober and Niall’s practically falling off his barstool. You’re a menace, Tommo.”  
  
Niall, who’d started nodded enthusiastically in agreement with Zayn’s speech, maybe nods too enthusiastically, because he loses his balance and falls to the floor in a heap.  
  
Zayn sighs and Louis starts cackling.  
  
Niall’s always had a good sense of comedic timing.  
  
*  
  
Zayn gives Niall a bottle of water and banishes him to the back patio usually frequented by smokers with strict instructions to “sober up and don’t you dare fucking puke.” It’s chilly tonight, the first real sign that the dog days of summer are over and fall is creeping in. The breeze cutting through the alley feels good on Niall’s heated cheeks. He closes he eyes and lets his head slump back against the rough bricks of the building, concentrates on keeping his balance despite the way the world is still spinning dangerously.  
  
Later, he’ll blame the alcohol for taking him so long to notice. It’s like a silence has fallen over his alley retreat, the sounds of the city fading out until all he can hear is the steady pounding of his own heart.  
  
There’s a prickle on the back of his neck. It feels like he’s being watched.  
  
Niall’s eyes snap open and he nearly falls over for the second time tonight. Right in front of him is a man, a boy really, wearing a ridiculous black trench coat and guilty expression.  
  
“Oh!” the boy exclaims, taking a step back, out of Niall’s personal space, schooling his features into a charming smile. Niall spots a dimple. He feels faint.  
  
“Um.” Niall says eloquently. The boy positively beams at him.  
  
“I’m Harry!” he chirps.  
  
“Yeh, nice ‘t meet ya,” Niall manages to string an entire sentence together. Progress. “’m Niall.”  
  
“You’re Irish,” Harry says. He sounds delighted.  
  
“That, um, I mean, yeah.” One step forward, two steps back. God, he’s so drunk. Niall is going to kill Louis.  
  
Apparently Harry is undeterred by Niall’s inability to form human conversation. His smile grows even bigger and it lights his whole face up. He’s got two dimples, Niall notes, and contemplates curling up for a nap in them. He has just enough self-awareness to hope that was an inside thought.  
  
“ _And_ you’re cute,” Harry continues. “Oh, I could just eat you up.” He giggles at this and Niall has the distinct feeling he’s missed the joke.  
  
Harry’s smile turns sly, showing only a hint of teeth that glint in the streetlight. He takes a step forward, invading Niall’s space again, and Niall feels his pulse kick up. Harry’s eyes drop to his lips, then lower when Niall swallows uncomfortably, his adam’s apple bobbing.  
  
“Wanna kiss you,” he murmurs, his voice almost a purr. He reaches a hand out, cups Niall’s cheek.  
  
Niall shivers at the contact. Harry’s hand is cold, but it’s big. Niall has some wicked thoughts about what Harry could do with those hands, but then Harry’s suddenly pressed close to him, trapping him against the rough bricks and all thoughts quickly evaporate.  
  
Harry tilts Niall’s face up, studies him with frightening intensity, like he’s trying to commit his features to memory. He seems to be waiting for something.  
  
The moment drags on, the heated mood shifting towards awkward. Harry looks like he could stand there all night, waiting for a sign, and Niall’s got no patience for that, not when Harry’s lips are red red red and was that the pink tip of his tongue darting out to wet them?  
  
In one graceless motion, Niall surges up and presses his lips to Harry’s. Harry hums in approval, kissing Niall back chastely, and that’s just not on. Harry’s mouth looks like sin and Niall wants to taste it.  
  
Maybe it’s the alcohol making everything fuzzy, but Niall doesn’t spare a thought for how quickly things are moving. He bites at Harry’s lower lip until Harry groans and he can slip his tongue inside.

Harry’s mouth is positively wicked. Niall grabs the back of his head, twining his fingers around Harry’s curls, and pulls him closer.  
  
Finally, Harry pulls back, breaking the kiss. Niall is panting, feels his heart racing, but Harry appears unaffected. “You taste like beer,” he announces.  
  
“Yeh,” Niall agrees. “May have had a pint... or ten,” he mumbles.  
  
Harry’s eyes widen. “Ten pints? That’s irresponsible, Niall! You’d be more alcohol than blood," he scolds.  
  
“’m Irish, ain’t I?” Niall huffs. “’sides, I can’t actually remember how many pints. Probably not ten.” He’d be dead. Probably.  
  
Harry doesn’t look comforted. In fact, Niall would describe his expression as, well, a kicked puppy. It shouldn’t look good on a boy as old as Harry, and yet Niall finds himself wanting to kiss his face until he smiles again. He leans forward, ready to put his plan into action, but suddenly Harry moves away, faster than Niall thought possible.  
  
God, he’s still so drunk.  
  
“You’re drunk.” Harry accuses, as if Niall has insulted him. Niall is confused. He liked the kissing thing, why aren’t they doing the kissing thing?  
  
‘’sit matter?” he asks. “Why are we talking right now? We could be kissing right now. We should be kissing right now.”  
  
Look, an entire speech! A well rounded, logical argument, even. He looks at Harry, feeling confident that he’s made his point.  
  
But Harry’s still standing too far away, arms crossed over his chest, stupid red lips pursed into a pout. “Of course it matters!” he exclaims. “Can’t consent if you’re drunk, can you?”  
  
“Consent?” Niall repeats stupidly. “It’s just kissing, mate. What’s a little drunk kissing between friends?”  
  
Harry cocks his head, looking remarkably like a quizzical puppy. “You don’t even know me. We can’t be friends.” He sounds more confused than upset.  
  
“Whatever,” Niall says, “drunk kissing between acquaintances, then.” He’s careful to enunciate, to show Harry just how sober he can be. “You’re missing the point here, Harry. _Kissing_.”  
  
But Harry is shaking his head, backing father away. “Don’t just wanna kiss you, Niall,” he says softly and oh, had Harry been hoping they’d take this back alley kissing somewhere else? He’s so busy imaging the possibilities – so many places Harry could put those hands, and his mouth, oh god – that he almost misses Harry’s next words, “wanna taste you, too.”  
  
Harry’s mouth is so brilliant. His lips are red and swollen from Niall’s kisses and the way they move to form words and _he wants to taste Niall_.  
  
Niall’s about to open his mouth, brain scrambling to come up with the words that will make Harry come back here and deliver on that promise, when the back door slams open and light spills out onto the dimly lit patio.  
  
“Niall!” Louis squawks. “It’s bar time! Zayn is kicking us out and _I didn’t even get Liam’s number yet_. He’s a traitor and we’re no longer friends.”  
  
Niall could point out that he’s already been kicked out, but logic has never been an effective strategy in shutting Louis up. Also, Liam?  
  
“Who’s Liam?” he asks.  
  
Louis rolls his eyes so hard he could give Zayn a run for his money. “Fit bloke with the shoulders I’ve been talking to all night. Where have you _been_ , Niall?” He throws up his hands in exasperation and retreats back inside. Niall stares blankly after him before shaking his head. Louis is chaos personified and Niall can’t be bothered to keep up.  
  
He turns back to apologize to Harry, maybe get _his_ number, because Louis is an idiot but Niall can learn from his mistakes, but the alley is empty. There’s not a trace of Harry anywhere.  
  
Niall is going to kill Louis.  
  
*  
  
Its two weeks before Niall sees Harry again. He’s walking home after a late night steady session at the library, mind preoccupied with his uni courses, when he realizes someone has fallen into step beside him.  
  
He jumps and adamantly maintains that the noise he makes in a dignified and manly shout (“you shrieked like a little girl! I didn’t know you could make such a high pitched sound. Think only dogs can hear that pitch, mate” “shup up, I did _not_ ”). Harry is wearing the same trench coat as before and it should look ridiculous (who even wears trench coats?) but Niall finds his eyes making an approving sweep over Harry’s body.  
  
He thought maybe he’d misremembered, Harry couldn’t have been that tall, that good looking, that _dimpled_ , but the real thing standing here in front of him is better than his memories.  
  
“Hi,” he says, smiling goofily. Harry grins back. “Hi.”  
  
This is a great conversation, Niall thinks, really promising, but what he’s actually interested in is seeing if Harry’s lips can really get as red as he remembers.  
  
“’m not drunk,” is what comes out of his mouth.  
  
Harry laughs loudly, as if this is a funny joke, clapping a hand over his mouth. “No, I don’t suppose you are,” he says at last, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “You wanna get out of here, then?”  
  
Niall looks around the quiet street, the dark shadows set off by the nearly full moon hanging low in the sky. “Think that line only works when you’re picking someone up, like, inside somewhere.”  
  
Harry waves a hand dismissively. “You’re missing the point here, Niall,” he says, throwing Niall’s earlier words back in his face. He leers, and it’s absolutely predatory. “ _Kissing_.”  
  
And, oh, right. They’re standing here talking when they could be doing that. And since Niall is sober this time, maybe Harry’ll agree to, oh fuck, what was it that he said?  
  
“Still wanna taste me, then?” he asks cheekily and is rewarded with a pair of dimples as Harry’s smile threatens to crack his face in two.  
  
“Your flat close?”  
  
In answer, Niall grabs Harry’s wrist and tugs him up the street. Two blocks never felt so far.  
  
*  
  
Niall really, really likes kissing. Harry’s a great kisser, which Niall already knew, but now there isn’t an uncomfortable brick wall pressing into his back and somewhere between the front door and falling onto his bed they lost shirts and it feels like Harry’s everywhere all at once.  
  
“Think you need a new coat, mate,” he manages to pant when Harry moves his mouth to Niall’s neck, hissing when he feels Harry’s teeth pressing against his skin.  
  
“You don’t like the trench coat?” Harry murmurs into the skin at his throat, warm breath ghosting over his pulse point.  
  
“No, it’s just,” Niall loses his train of thought when Harry bites down on his neck, his sharp canines no doubt leaving bruises on Niall’s pale skin. The thought of Harry leaving him marked up for everyone to see sends his blood rushing straight to his cock. “Just, it’s not keeping you, ah, very warm, is it?” He gasps out.  
  
Harry shrugs, uncaring. “Don’t need a coat to keep me warm when I’ve got you, hmm? You’re like a little furnace.” Niall would object to being called little, but he kind of likes the way Harry’s body covers his, his heavy weight trapping Niall beneath him. Anyway, he’s got a point; Harry’s cool skin has warmed up now that he and Niall are tangled up in Niall’s sheets.  
  
Harry pulls back, admires the bruises he’s left on Niall’s throat. Niall feels his face flush under the scrutiny.  
  
“Can I ask you something, Niall?” Harry asks conversationally, like he hasn’t got Niall half naked and panting beneath him.  
  
“’course,” he says. Maybe he’s gonna ask about the tasting thing. Harry’s awfully vocal about consent. It’s fine, Niall will say yes to wherever Harry wants to taste him.  
  
He’s really hoping Harry wants to taste his dick.  
  
“Can I,” he hesitates. “Can I bite you?”  
  
And that... that is not what Niall was expecting. His fingers move unconsciously to the mark on his neck, left by Harry’s teeth not even a minute ago. “I mean,” he says, “yeah? You already did, though, is the thing.”  
  
“No,” Harry says, bites his own lip. “Not like… look, Niall, you promise not to freak out?”  
  
If Harry wants to bite his dick he’s gonna be so disappointed. It would be a waste of such a talented mouth.  
  
“I promise not to freak out,” he says dutifully.  
  
Harry takes a deep breath before blurting out, “it’sjustthatI’mavampireandIreallywanttotasteyourbloodIpromiseitwillbarelyhurtandI’llonlytakealittlepleaseNiallplease _please_ letme.”  
  
And, wait, what?  
  
“Could you repeat that? Only with spaces between the words? Did you say _vampire_?”  
  
He knew Harry was too good to be true. Every cute boy has a fatal flaw. Zayn with his strict girls only policy, Louis and his stinking feet because he doesn’t believe in socks, and Harry and his, uh, vampirism.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry admits. “Maybe I can just – I’ll show you, okay? Don’t panic.” He opens his mouth, revealing his gleaming white teeth, and holy fuck his canines are getting longer and sharper and did his eyes just flash red and Niall is not panicking, he’s not, it’s just the room is suddenly really hot and there’s this roaring in his ears and _Harry is a vampire_.  
  
“Please don’t panic,” Harry pleads, rubbing his cold hands soothingly up and down Niall’s arms and Niall never expected to relate to Twilight so much. The thought shakes him out of his growing terror, because Harry has sharp teeth now and is still crouched over him on the bed _because he’s a fucking vampire_. Niall finally croaks out, “how long have you been 17?”  
  
He laughs at the confusion that clouds Harry’s face. “What? I’m 19. Niall. Are you okay?”  
  
But Niall just shakes his head, can’t stop his wheezing laughter because _Harry is still a vampire_. “Do you sparkle in sunlight?” he gets out between giggles.  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry groans, dropping his head and tucking his face into Niall’s neck. “I thought you’d be scared but you’re laughing at me,” he mumbles, words muffled against Niall’s skin.  
  
Niall pets at Harry’s hair, running his fingers through the soft curls.  
  
“It’s okay, Harry,” he soothes. “’m sure you’re a great vampire. Very scary,” he adds unconvincingly.  
  
Harry lifts his head. “I don’t want to be scary,” he protests. “I want to be, um…” he trails off, his brow knit in concentration.  
  
“You vant to be sucking my blood?” Niall asks in a truly horrendous Dracula impression.  
  
“Yes!” Harry says. “That! I mean,” he peers down at Niall, “if you’re okay with it?”  
  
Niall thinks maybe vampires shouldn’t look so adorable, but he figures he’s bruised Harry’s ego enough tonight and decides to keep the thought to himself.  
  
“’course,” he says, smiling up at Harry. He lifts his chin, exposing his neck. There’s a small part of his brain protesting, raising the alarm that _this is dangerous you don’t let predators eat you what are you thinking_ but Niall ignores it.  
  
In his defense, Harry has dimples.  
  
Now that Niall has given his enthusiastic consent, Harry doesn’t waste time running his tongue over Niall’s pulse point. He carefully presses his sharp teeth against the skin and holds them there, giving Niall one last chance to pull away. Niall doesn’t move, concentrates on keeping his breathing steady, can hear the way his heart is pounding wildly in his chest.  
  
Harry bites him suddenly, teeth sinking into his flesh and, oh, fuck, that stings. Niall lets out an involuntary whimper, but the pain quickly fades and all Niall can focus on is the weirdly erotic sensation of Harry’s mouth on his neck, drinking his blood. It should be gross, but suddenly Niall’s jeans feel too tight where they’re stretched across his crotch and who’s bright idea was it to leave their trousers on?  
  
Harry pulls back when Niall’s hips start moving, seeking friction, and he looks down at Niall, a little bit of blood glistening at the corner of his mouth.  
  
He tugs Harry down for a kiss, tastes the metallic bite of blood on his tongue. “Harry,” he asks against his lips, “can uh. Can vampires, you know,” he glances down between them, “get hard?”  
  
In answer, Harry shoots him a filthy grin and grinds his hips down against Niall’s.  
  
“Oh,” Niall says, “we should – can we-” He’s cut off when Harry leans down for another kiss.  
  
“Yes,” he whispers against Niall’s lips.  
  
Niall fucking loves the word yes.

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear. this is my first fic. please be kind!


End file.
